Life
by AtlantisGirl12
Summary: Lying in an alley, Arthur reflects what brought him to this point.


**Life**

The sidewalk cuts into my knees as I fall to the ground, but I scarcely feel the pain. I look up with bleary eyes at the men standing above me, their dark shapes blurry and unrecognizable.

"Pitiful," one of them mutters. They stride away laughing.

I want to get up, to chase after them and show them who's boss, but my limbs are heavy and leaden. But I can't stay like this forever, here in this alley on my knees. I put a hand on the grimy ground to brace myself and try to struggle to my feet. My legs are weak though and the pain is too great. I fall on my side with a moan.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. Just a simple job. Two layers deep. Get in, get out. And we did, but the cost was too much. I'll never forget the look on her face when we took the information. Lost, hurt.

The pain hits me again and I can feel my muscles trembling. Where are they? They have to know I'm missing by now. A rain drop hits my face. Great. It was raining outside too. Or maybe this was outside? They blur together…I pry a hand away from my bleeding middle and ram it into my pockets, searching for my totem. I breathe a sigh of relief as my fingers close about the familiar edges.

"Roll a two," I whisper. I toss the dice. Unfortunately, I must have some kind of strength left. The die skitters away, finally coming to a stop by the dumpster...on the other side of the alley. The absurdity of the situation catches up with me, and I laugh. It's a choking sound, not like mine at all. I wonder if I am finally going crazy from it all.

If Eames could see me now, he'd have a field day. "Beaten by a girl," he'd say. I wish I could hear him say it; it would mean I wasn't alone here, wherever here is.

And Dom, he'd just shake his head, maybe wondering if I'm losing my touch. Maybe I am. The jobs used to be so easy. But since Ariadne…it's harder to focus. I pride myself on being professional—no attachments, no emotional ties. It's easier that way. There's no worrying over wondering when you'll be alone again…and the hurt you feel when you are. Dom's been the only one for years. The man really knows how to get under your skin, with or without dreams. That's why he's the best.

But Ariadne…she's different. I can't help but steal glances at her when I know no one is looking. It's easy to simply love her for her personality, but it's the details that get me. I love the way her hair curls over her shoulders, how she twirls the end of her scarf around her finger when she's concentrating, or how her eyes sparkle when she's describing her latest dreamscape. I want to see that sparkle, even if it's last thing I see.

A wracking cough overtakes me and a cry escapes my clenched teeth. I can't have long now. I manage to raise my head a little and force my hands away from my middle so I can look at the wound. The knife really did a number on me. The edges of the entry point are ragged and torn and hot blood continues to pump out a steady stream. I don't know if anything vital was hit, but at this point, it doesn't matter. The blood loss will surely do the job. And the fact that it just plain _hurts_.

I look over at the die again. I wish I could read the sides—I've studied it so many times that I could tell which way rolled just from the sides—but they're obscured in shadows. I struggle to remember how I got here, to this point.

I was…walking…that seems right. I was walking somewhere when they grabbed me. But what about before that? The memory eludes me and I could almost cry out with the frustration of it all. But a wave of relief sweeps over me when I realize I can't remember. It must be a dream then. This must be the dream we created to try to fix what we did. We must have split up to try to find the girl.

I watch a mouse scampering under the dumpster out of the rain as I remember that day we found her. It had been only a month after the extraction. Dom had called us and said we had to go back in. Apparently the information we had stolen had an adverse effect on her mind. We hacked into the mansion's surveillance cameras to observe her and realized…we had destroyed her. We all watched in horror as her nurse tried to get her to eat, as her father remained oblivious to her condition—he got what _he_ wanted—as the girl lay lifelessly in bed, wasting away. Dom vowed to set things right and we all agreed, even Eames, whose moral compass doesn't exactly point north.

It all seems so far away now, as I lie here with a gaping hole in me. I realize that the girl and I have something in common now. We're both alone. She because we took her memories about her lover to her tyrant of a father and I because I tried to put them back.

I close my eyes against the rain. Who knew just how tricky the mind could be? Who knew that taking someone's memories away wouldn't just erase them from their mind, but take a piece of their soul?

Absently, I wipe away the trail of blood trickling down my chin. Raising my fingers, I watch it mingle with the rain and drip off my hand like tears. I remember Ariadne crying in my hotel room, mortified at what we'd done.

My arm flops limply back to the pavement. So many regrets. If only we hadn't believed the girl's father and thought our actions were beneficial. Then that girl would be somewhere else, Ariadne wouldn't have cried, and I would be with Ariadne, protecting her from the girl's projections.

The puddle of blood beneath me has grown and I'm torn by disgust and fascination. How long does it take someone to die from blood loss anyway? My thoughts turn toward waking up and feeling warm again. Maybe going to the French bistro with Ariadne and sharing croissants.

The sound of feet rapidly approaching startles me out of my reverie. "Ariadne? Dom?" My voice croaks, barely audible.

"Arthur!" I hear Ariadne's voice laced with worry and fear. "He's here! We found him!"

My eyes close in spite of my greatest efforts to keep them open, but I can feel her kneel beside me, her soft hands warming my cheek.

"Arthur, look at me," she pleads.

"He's too—" Eames' voice, but I hear a shush from Dom.

Hands push something soft against my wound and I moan in pain. They gently lift me up and my arms are supported by two shoulders—Eames and Dom, I guess. I force my eyes open and see Ariadne's beautiful face, drenched with rain or tears, I can't tell.

_I'll be okay_, I want to tell her, but I've lost all ability to speak. As they hurry me away, my darkening eyesight catches sight of my totem, lying forgotten by the dumpster. Its face stares up at me, the six dots mocking.

**A/N: The idea for this one-shot came to me suddenly today. I couldn't remember what Arthur said about his dice in the movie, so I made the dream/reality numbers the same as they are in .N.'s fic "Capitulation." (Do go read her story, by the way!) In her story, two means dream and six means reality. **

**I deliberately left out a lot of details, but hopefully it was fairly easy to get the gist of it. The ending is also left unresolved, although I think it's possible to get the ending I intended if you read carefully. Hint: the title is ironic (I think). Anyway, please review and tell me what you thought! :) And sorry to Arthur, for beating him up once again. Unfortunately, it probably won't be the last. :P **


End file.
